


A Song of Storms

by Noarev



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noarev/pseuds/Noarev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious stranger charms Cirdan with a song as beautiful as the sea only to disappear soon after. Unknown to the Elven shipwright, a greater play is in motion than just a chance encounter, one that Ulmo can't ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song of Storms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juin/gifts).



> Juin gave me a challenge, one that I most joyously endeavored to complete. Thanks to her eagle eye, this version is free from many of the ways in which I've erred. Needless to say, lots of gratitude has been earned.

Days and nights could have swept over him as he indulged in the everlasting music of the sea, yet Cirdan would not have noticed. There was an undeniable greatness in Ulmo’s songs that touched him deep inside, sheltering him from the darkness that swept through Middle-Earth. Nonetheless, he found himself walking away from the shore at the end of each day to his own chambers that felt far too silent for one used to the sea’s endless hum.

“It is quite mesmerizing, is it not?” The stranger smiled pleasantly at a startled Cirdan, easily skipping up the slippery steps leading to the small outcrop the shipwright always came to. “I hope I have not startled you.”

“Not at all,” Cirdan allowed himself a smile at his own expense, “I often am found adrift, my thoughts lost at sea.” There was something peculiar about the newcomer, yet each time he thought he knew what it was, the notion slipped between his fingers. “I do not recall seeing you before,” he hesitantly remarked for the other’s features were somewhat familiar to him.

“Not all who wander far from the shores are easily recalled,” the stranger smiled in return, giving Cirdan a shallow bow. “I am Amras, a mere traveller by most accounts.” The corner of his eyes wrinkled with mischief at that display of modesty. “And surely I’m far less intriguing than you, the one who knows these shores so well that his skills with the sails are well known far into the hills and forests.”

Cirdan could not help but laugh at the stranger’s assumptions for he thought his newly found friend to be quite strange indeed. “I cannot take credit for it’s the sea’s own charms that call to me and spark the desire within to know their secrets.” As if lured nearer by his words, a higher wave than most crashed against the rocks, spraying both of them with a thin mist. “It is a very wise mistress, one who forces you to take care and respect the power it holds within its grasp.”

Amras seemed greatly amused at that, settling his back against the cliff with his legs crossed, as if shying away from the small terrace’s edge. “So you believe lord Ulmo to be of the womenfolk?” Seeing Cirdan’s hesitation to reply spurred him to laugh. “Ah, I see, it would be unwise to speak of such things when one’s so close to his domain.” With a wink, the peculiar Elf began to rummage through a small satchel he had kept concealed beneath his cloak. “Perhaps we can convince him to enjoy a little wit.”

His curiosity stirred by Amras’ humour, Cirdan watched silently as the other finally revealed the object of his search, giving it a tentative look-over before setting his lips firmly around the blow piece. The flute’s melody was subtle at first, barely distinguishable against the sound of waves crashing faster against the rocky reefs below them. Yet even as the waves grew fiercer, so did the tune become more poignant. Its notes seemed to hint at the things that were to come, as well as call to what had been before.

For Cirdan, the song that Amras wove around them brought memories of quiet nights spent wandering at sea, his hand barely making any effort to control the way the tiller moved. The sails would often whisper in the soft breeze, sometimes the only ones to warn him of a coming storm. And then there were the nights when Ulmo welcomed him and the wind barely rocked his small ship. Those summer nights at sea were his favourite moments where only he and the sea existed beneath the sky’s watchful eyes, nothing but fate and Ulmo’s spirit guiding him for hours at a time.

When the wave crashed upon them, Cirdan was startled into wakefulness, his first impulse to check the sky for signs of wild weather.  The only thunder he could hear rumbling in the distance were the tumult of the sea which seemed to have grown great since he could last recall seeing them before getting lost in Amras’ melody. The wandering Elf seemed strangely alive, a wild grin on his face as the breeze picked up and turned into a strong wind. His own face, he realized, sported a matching grin while his hands ached to struggle with sail ropes against the untamed sea.

“It seems that my melody was not quite to Ulmo’s liking,” Amras jested, shielding them with his cloak just as another wave almost brushed  high enough to reach them. “Or perhaps he is jealous of how charmed you seemed to be with my song and he is setting his own musicians in place.” If any other would have suggested such a thing, Cirdan would have been far from amused, yet he did not feel that Amras’ playfulness hinted at the same lack of respect that the young showed at times before they learned better aboard their first ship.

“Or perhaps it is his boon for the delight your music has made him feel,” Cirdan jested in return. “After all, who could not be tempted to take on the challenge of manning a ship when faced with such fierce weather? This,” he laughed as the waves crashed around them, stepping out from behind the shelter of Amras’ cloak, “all of this is Ulmo’s gift to us and what better way to show our appreciation than to rise up and face its challenges, to pit our resolve against the waves that crash against our hulls,” the shipwright asked, waving a hand over the tempestuous horizon.

Turning to see if Amras shared his feelings, Cirdan was amused to see the Elf appearing as if he was trying to merge with the sea cliff wall. “The generosity in such a show of force does not go wasted on me,” Amras confessed, his appearance solemn for the first time. “I believe that I was right to make the journey to this very place.” And Cirdan’s spirit seemed to rise even higher as he realized that his new friend was discovering the joys of a stormy sea for the first time. “A truly remarkable display,” he whispered, his tone humbled.

In a wordless tumult the two stood watch over the approaching storm until Cirdan heard the bells by the dock clamour to life. His duty called him to aid his people prepare for the upcoming night, each of them given a part in the dance they would perform across the decks and along the masts of every ship. Yet he felt reluctant to leave Amras despite the other’s smile when he saw Cirdan turn towards the steps.

“Go,” he seemed to whisper over the sea’s roar, “they need you.”

A hurried bow did not seem enough to pass on all that Cirdan wanted to say. Making his way down the steps and along the shore, he hoped one part had made it through at least. The wanderer’s melody still haunted him, its faint tune never quite leaving him even as he reached the docks and began setting things to order.

In his mind’s eye, an image came uncalled for.

Amras stood tall by the edge of outcrop, with nothing but a long fall holding him apart from the sea. His cloak billowed in the wind, yet he did not seem to notice as it snaked along his body. His whole will was bent towards a single purpose and, for that precise reason, his fingertips danced along the flute, turning his very breath into a daring melody.

When the sky lit up with stray lightning far at sea, Cirdan dared to look away from the ropes and turn his eyes towards his terrace. Though the night was darker than most, he could not help but feel that his vision had been true. Indeed, it seemed to him that he could hear a melody entwining itself with the sea’s song, both beautiful and strangely out of tune with the all the rest, yet goading the storm ever faster until the cliffs were lost in the night’s cover.

Far away, the depths of Angband also rose in song for Morgoth sensed the storm brewing in Arda’s veins as Ulmo stirred, their voices matching in intent.

*~*

 _Where do the shadows lie,_ Cirdan wondered as he looked out over the sea.

It seemed to him that they dwelt everywhere, concealing the world’s liveliness from his sight. The storm had passed with the coming of the new day, yet the clouds lingered with him ever since he had first heard the stranger’s song. As days passed and Amras did not return, Cirdan had taken to spending more and more time by the sea.

There were dark times coming, he could sense it.

*~*

Far from the shores, deep beneath the sea, Ulmo rode out of his chambers and set out to hunt.

The Enemy had dared too much, had grown too bold. It was time for him to strike out and limit the spread of Morgoth’s corruption. He had to remind himself that it was not Melkor’s touch he fought any longer but the Enemy of the Arda.

Streams and rivers swelled with his passing, each answering his call for aid.

Throughout the woods of Middle Earth, the will of Ulmo went out, seeking the one who had dared challenge his will upon the very shores of his domain. There was no time for him to consider what damage might have been done. Healing would follow once the wrongdoer had been caught.

Where warmth failed to touch the surface of the rivers, Ulmo knew his brother Manwë had joined him in his search. Though water and sap, his will spread until it spied the one he wanted to restrain. The eagles were hunting him and Ulmo rushed ahead, coursing down the streams until he was almost upon the fiend. It was merely a race between him and Manwë’s servants.  

When the eagles dove through the air, poised to grasp their prey, it evaded them.

Ulmo, however, the Enemy’s pawn did not escape.

The net had caught its prey.

*~*

Fleeing through the forests, Amras concerned himself with far different matters though Cirdan was not far from his thoughts. Yet his steps carried him ever onwards and away from the sea. He felt that to linger even for a moment would have been unwise, the tension in the wind undeniable. Far above the treetops, he could make out the shrill cries of the hunters.

“Cursed blight upon the skies,” he muttered, ignoring the burning sensation in his side. “I should have cast you down when I had the chance.” It improved his temper greatly to think that he would have his revenge upon them. “I shall return, have no fear.”

He desperately hoped that they would not fear his promise for it would make his vengeance that much sweeter. The anger of being hunted as if he were nothing more than a wild hare ate at him, yet he could not risk using his power yet. Twice he had almost been caught while attempting to surprise the hunters and thrice he had been forced to take flight least he gave other travellers a cause to wonder.

_Hurry..._

And that he did.

For what felt like days, he had run under the forest’s cover, always weary that the enemy might be upon him. When nothing struck, he decided to push on until he came across the first great river to cross his path. The waters did not seem to run deep, but he knew better than to trust appearances. A shrill shriek from above warned him that his options were limited.

“There are times when wisdom goes ignored,” Amras grunted, vaulting over the last remains of the forest and into the open shore. Though he ran with all his might, there was no denying the sensation that the enemy drew near. His cloak fluttered in the newly gusting wind leaving him with no choice but to dive into the rapid waters.

It was a mistake that he did not anticipate making, one with far reaching consequences for which Amras was not prepared.

*~*

With a thousand hands, the water clung to him and dragged Amras deep beneath the surface as the river rushed downstream. Striking out with all his might, he fought to surface and make his way across to the other shore. The more he struggled, the fiercer the current seemed to grow.

The time for trickery having long since passed, he let loose his power and lashed out against the powers that pulled at his limited form. Amras cursed and fought, wishing he could sink his teeth into the enemy’s body if only to defy his captor. Calming himself, he smiled under the foamy waters and focused his will into the scheme that he deemed worthy.

Out of the waters, an orb of flame mingled with shadow burst out and raced across the sky towards the only one who had the power to aid him. Feeling the anger surge within the waters, Amras laughed until no air was left with him. His desperate ploy had worked well, he felt. A small victory, it was a pleasant one nonetheless.

Still, he was lost and hopelessly dragged out towards the sea.

*~*

Deep in Angband, the shadows stirred to life as Melkor prepared to ride forth, an orb of flame and shadow waning before him as the one who had forged it was carried far away.

Yet he was never beyond his reach, as Melkor, in his anger, wished to remind the world.

Not often would the great Lord leave his keep, but he could sense the need to do so as soon as he was ready to journey past the black gates. The armour was dark and heavy, yet that posed nothing more than a mild discomfort. What irked him was the sun’s bright light that waited past the haven his dark clouds provided.

“There is a time when one must claim what’s his,” the dark lord’s voice rumbled through the caverns of his domain. “I will claw it from their hands until there’s naught left but bones to be crumbled beneath my servant’s march.”

Without another delay, he rose through the fortress and burst out the doors of Angband as a dark cloud, a storm the likes of which none had seen in Middle Earth before. The valleys howled with the wind that swept past in his wake, animals hid and the Elves sought shelter as deep as they could within their fortresses. None dared walk into the dark storm that seemed to block the Sun with its fury.

None dared challenge it but Ulmo, whose domain ran out towards the sea.

*~*

Cirdan’s presence in the Elven village had become a rare sight that none expect to see. At day, the shipwright toiled on his craft, in docks or out at sea. Often he returned late at night when every other ship had already set its anchor in the port, their nets full while his seldom were.

Life on the shores of Middle Earth had become a burden to be endured rather than a thing to be greatly treasured. The pearls and waves no longer charmed him as they once had, but Cirdan’s steps always carried him to the small terrace where he had first met Amras. At first he had thought it would lead to their paths crossing once more, yet as the days passed without a sign, the hope turned into a wish.

On certain nights, he took to walking along the shore, wishing he would meet Amras while his thoughts ran with out to sea with the tides. It was an empty hope, Cirdan felt, but one which he could not shake ever since he had heard the Elf’s song during the storm. To stand against the raging sea and sing, the image had engraved itself in the shipwright’s mind and refused to be forgotten.

While he walked farther from the village than he had in days, Cirdan believed he could almost make out the Elf’s voice upon the wind. Only one warning he received that it might have been something more than a wistful fancy on his part. Never had he heard Amras cry out for aid, yet that was what he could make out in the distance.

Caution was a foreign feeling to him as he ran through the night, ignoring the thunder that seemed to be brewing far away. A darker night than most, it was also one that seemed to have fulfilled his wish. If only fortune smiled upon him, Cirdan knew his hope would be answered.

In the middle of the river, clinging to a rock, Amras was desperately trying to stay above the furious waters that rushed past him towards the sea. Each time he tried to climb higher, a swell in the waters would wash over him and try to sweep him away. With a practiced eye, Cirdan knew that the Elf’s strength was waning.

“I’m coming,” he shouted, hoping his words would carry across the rapid stream. Not far off he made out a hollowed branch, separated long ago from its tree. Without a moment’s hesitation, Cirdan rushed towards it and plucked it from the grassy shore before he dove into the water. “I’m coming,” he warned again before putting all his breath into swimming.

Yet every time he seemed to near Amras, the river would swell and push him away.

Nonetheless, the shipwright would try again and again, fury slowly building in his chest as the very water seemed to fight him. He called upon the Valar closest to his kin, but the river only seemed to flow faster until Cirdan could no longer even see Amras. Still, he struggled, his pleas unheard.

There was no other choice for Cirdan as he was not prepared to abandon the stranger who had sung against the storm, a song which haunted him still. Battered by the onrushing river, his muscles aching from his struggles against the current, he endured and ventured again into the water. Finally, as if the river itself did not want him there, the shipwright was violently cast out.

His sides ached with fresh bruises from where he had struck the rocky shore, a leg felt limp and hurt each time he wished to move. The worst was the way his heart seemed to stop in his chest as Amras was gone from his sight. A raging torrent had swept away the one he had been looking for and Cirdan could only hope that Ulmo would protect the Elf once the waters rushed out into the sea.

The laughter seemed the sweetest sound Cirdan had ever heard.

Like a creature of the sea, Amras seemed to leap from beneath the water and managed to grab on to the rock. As the river tried to wash over him, the travelling Elf seemed only more determined, inching his way onto the small refuge he had found. The far away storm had come closer too, dark clouds swirling over them with strong winds tearing at the forest.

“I dare you to strike in His presence,” Amras laughed though Cirdan did not know whom he meant. For a moment, he believed the other was speaking to the river, but then a shrill howl filled the air and a great shadow swooped down towards the Elf. “Come to me,” he shouted, “aid me!”

The river swelled, eating away at the shore as it was driven out to sea even faster than before. Cirdan could tell that it would have been hopeless to try again to reach the Elf even if his body had not been broken on the shore. Powerless to do anything but wait, he could not tear his eyes away from how Amras seemed to challenge the very storm.

When the shadow had gripped the Elf, the wave crashed upon the rock as if the sea had charged upstream and all disappeared, swept away. Elf, rock and shadow were consumed in the deluge with only the storm growing stronger. It was on that river shore that hope died in Cirdan’s chest.

In the space between two breaths, Amras had been lost.

*~*

The storm did not last long though Cirdan did not notice its passing.

His thoughts lingered on the song Amras had shared upon their meeting upon the shore, the music pouring out against the dark horizon. A rock he had been against the rage that threatened to take them all, unmoved by the fury of the elements. Thus, an oath was formed in Cirdan’s heart.

“Never will I leave to others the helm which steers my destiny,” the shipwright swore as he tried to stumble to his feet. With only the hollow branch to aid him, he began his long walk to his home. “To the storm I will turn and never will I leave or bow before it,” his oath ended, Amras’ defiant laughter ringing in his ears. Where Ulmo had been when his friend had cried out for his help, Cirdan could only wonder.

The long walk would do him well, Cirdan believed, and the pain would fade in time. And ages later he would feel that pain still, for what was lost remained so evermore. He could only hope he would meet Amras once again when Mandos would return what Ulmo took away.

Until that day, doubt in his heart would linger.

*~*

When dawn came, the dark clouds had cleared and the sun shone throughout all of Middle Earth except in the darkness of Angband. Deep in his chambers, Melkor rejoiced though careful to hide his pleasure from his servants. The armour rested once more in its place, a robe of darkness hiding the cold paleness of his form. Of what had happened in his absence, the shadows whispered as they cloaked him.

His servant was lost in slumber when the dark lord stepped inside his inner sanctum where none were ever allowed to enter. Fear of his fury had once been enough to ensure Melkor had never had to worry about his rule being broken. Yet change was sweeping the world.

Ulmo had almost won a great victory, one which Melkor had gladly denied his misguided brother. It was only Mairon’s quick thinking as he made use of all the tricks offered to him in the limited Elven form that had made it possible. Mairon’s struggle to free himself from Ulmo’s bonds had delayed their race towards the sea long enough for Melkor to retrieve what was his.

“You have done well,” he whispered softly, not wishing the other to hear him even though his mind was far away. “I will have to reward you in some way,” Melkor decided, unsure how to do such a thing. He was stern where other lords were generous.

“I may have a suggestion,” Amras’ prone form before him smiled timidly, “if I may be so bold, my Lord.” A sweet tone, his servant’s voice was anything but meek. It carried mischief like honey bore sweetness. “I am ever eager to be of aid to you.”

Melkor’s laughter was a sound not often heard, yet Mairon never failed to earn it.

“And how do you propose to be of service to me,” he taunted in good humour, his victory still sweet and fresh. “Was I not the one who saved you from a wretched fate in Valinor? Perhaps your reward should be that you will only have to thank me on your knees for but an age instead of more.” Slowly, he circled the great bed upon which Mairon had rested. “I believe that would be fitting.”

Mairon bowed his head, ever willing to portray the obedient serf. “My Lord knows well that I would always praise his strength and wisdom, yet even greater would my enthusiasm be if I knew I had pleased him before thanking him for taking me,” a moment’s pause revealed a mischievous smile, “upon him.”

It was the daring that Melkor appreciated most.

“Perhaps you should be allowed to show your appreciation,” he agreed, though careful to pretend his interest in such things had waned. “Though I do not see why you should be rewarded in such a generous manner. You were almost caught, after all.”

The fur blankets were pushed aside to reveal the fullness of Mairon’s body. “If my Lord would look at things from my point of view, I am certain I could reveal the merits of such a generous boon.” The charm of Mairon’s voice promised many things in which Melkor wished to indulge.

“Only if you shed that ridiculous form,” Melkor commanded, watching with rapt attention as Mairon revealed his true appearance. “Such a shame that your travel clothes disappeared along with the illusion,” he added, affecting great sorrow. “You are left so vulnerable.” It was an openness which he did not hesitate in the least to explore as he took his place beside Mairon.

“I feel hard...” Mairon affected a light cough,”-y in the presence of my Lord,” he flattered.

The shadows of Melkor’s robe concealed them both as they revelled in the many fascinating perceptions that Mairon shared with his lord upon a great deal of things. His mouth and golden tongue endeavoured long to please his Lord, though Melkor did believe he sang the sweetest when telling praise of his Lord’s prowess.

Thus, the last trace of Amras disappeared, deep within the darkness of Angband where none who knew the truth bothered to shed a word amidst the many anguished whimpers of their celebration. In time, only one place held any memory of one Elf’s song against the storm and that heart’s bearer kept waiting for the sea.


End file.
